Winterfair Surprise
by Caramina von Strade
Summary: Isolde Vorhalas is the great niece of the Count--and his last surviving heir. Can she find a way to hold what belongs to her blood? Only with help from some of the most unlikely places...
1. First Meeting

Disclaimer: All character's, worlds, terms, etc. belong to (light and praise) Lois McMaster Bujold, not me. Except for Lady Vorhalas. 

This is now updated, all of it, so re-read the first chapter for genealogical developments and other fun stuff. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! 

Caramina 

Winterfair

Miles observed Gregor and Laisa's Winterfair party with infinite experience, monitoring the copious numbers of counts, countesses, lords, ladies, soldiers, guards and Vor; admiring the splendid show that Empress Laisa had organized, and paying careful attention to the tall lady beside him: his wife of two years, Ekaterin Nile Vorvayne Vorkosigan. While carrying herself with more natural assurance than she had attempted to masquerade last year, Ekaterin was still finder her sea legs. Though Miles was still slightly puzzled about exactly—well, she had already met his parents, and Gregor…what else could _possibly_ be intimidating? Then he reflected on his own childhood and recanted. Just because _he_ had grown up in this old pile… He patted her hand, resting on his arm. She returned him a small smile. _Their_ children, safe with their nurse for the night, would be completely non-plused by this sort of thing. He would see to that.

Miles wasn't sure what first called him out of his thoughts, but what finally gathered his full attention was excessively obvious. In the midst of the colorful gowns, house uniforms, and military red and blues, a young woman in black stood in stark contrast. Her posture was tense—a random muscular tremula in her upper arm revealed just how tense. Drawing a breath, and setting her expression to one of calm determination, she walked straight across the ballroom to the Glass Room, where Gregor and Laisa were spending the first part of the evening—collecting the symbolic bags of gold from the Counts. Most of the ballroom's occupants followed her—discretely—with their eyes. Miles glanced at Ekaterin, and she shrugged minutely. Together they set off after the girl.

As they moved, Miles made a more careful observation. She was small, for a Barrayaran—taller than he by mere inches. Thick, blonde hair had been twisted into some sort of elegant bunch; Miles couldn't quite tell where the ends went. Her formal gown, what he originally thought to be solid black, actually consisted of embroidered gray silk sleeves and a velvet black overdress—the colors of mourning. He couldn't tell, but he bet that she rustled when she walked. She was _definitely_ Vor. Her step faltered slightly when she passed the threshold to the Glass Room, but she did not stop. If only he could get a better view of her _face_. Then he might be able to tell whose daughter she was, anyway. 

Miles and Ekaterin slipped in behind her, moving off to a point on the right. Sitting in two simple chairs at the head of the room were Emperor Gregor and Empress Laisa. They just finished their business with Count Vorsmythe when the girl reached them. Long stares followed her all they way to the dais. She curtsied deeply to them.

"Your majesties," she said in a soft voice. She swallowed and continued more loudly, "In the name of my great uncle and my family and my district, I present to you the Vorhalas taxes for this year." Into Gregor's hand she placed a crested bag.

Miles took a deep breath. _Oh._ _This_ was Isolde Vorhalas, the last living descendant of the Vorhalas line—except for the current Count. The current, _conservative_ Count. His father's enemy of decades standing. _Oh, my._ Miles pulled Ekaterin closer.

Gregor took the bag without batting an eyelash. "In the name of the Imperium I accept." The girl curtseyed again. Gregor beckoned her closer, and bent his head to speak into her ear. Miles couldn't quite hear what was said, but did see Lady Vorhalas nod several times. With a slight twitch of the finger Gregor dismissed her. She curtseyed once more and turned to leave the room. Miles nearly stared. 

__

Her face…She was a _kid_. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, if that. God, what pluck _she_ had. The Vorhalas blood was definitely there, along with some Vordrozda and Vorpinski. Blue-blood Barrayaran Vor-child oh, yeah. Miles looked beseechingly at Gregor. Although he did not acknowledge him, Gregor did cast and eye to an unintruding armsman positioned at the far wall. Miles took the hint.

"Come on," he said, and tugged Ekaterin along with him. They backed out of the Glass Room, and Miles led Ekaterin to a more secluded hallway. He pushed open the door to a small library.

"_Miles_," said Ekaterin, exacerbated, "_What is going on?_" 

"Mmm. Ha! _That_," he said, "Was Count Vorhalas' great niece. The last living member of the line besides him."

"And a couple of other Vor scion idiots."

"Ah, no. That's where things get interesting. There are none."

Ekaterin blinked. "_None?_"

Miles shrugged. "The family's had…well. They've always been very—outspoken—about their loyalty to the Imperium. To a fault. The Cetagandans and Mad Yuri didn't appreciate it, much. I don't know who took the leaf from whose book, but the general reaction was to slaughter everyone with a drop of Vorhalas blood except the Count and his immediate family."

Ekaterin stiffened slightly. "Oh, my. Why did the Count's family escape?"

"He never offered open military resistance. If the Count was killed, it would make a _very_ large political stink that would more damaging than the obnoxious Count."

"But…the Vorhalas family is older than the Vorkosigan's Miles,"

Miles nodded. There were a number of only children, or, I should say, only _breeding_ children. Some died before procreating. So old Vorhalas has two options. Appoint someone outside the line to inherit, or, " Miles smiled. "Force the largest social and political change on Barrayar since…since I don't know when. And it appears the old Count has decided where to place _his_ money." His smile grew to a wolfish grin. "I'll bet he sticks around just long enough to see her confirmed as his heir, too, and then kick off."

Ekaterin stared at him. " Is _that_ what you think he's planning?"

"Has to be. Otherwise he had no reason to have her give Gregor the bag. He would have given it to whomever he thought—outside his bloodline, that is—should be his heir, or wouldn't have shown at all. He has been very ill ever since his nephew died. _She_ however… Oh, _my._ I hope he's not really screwing up."

Ekaterin blinked. "Oh?"

"Well, the far right will try to eat her alive. The left and some of the moderates will try to put her up on a pedestal—you know, the 'first' woman count. The rest of the moderates will babble and drivel about how they're not really sure whether Barrayar is ready…"

"That seems to me more of her problem than his." She looked at Miles thoughtfully for a few long (very long from his points of view) moments. "Do _you _think she can pull it off?"

Miles paused. "She's awfully young…" he began.

"Is she?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Would she be to young…if she was a he?"

"Er…"

"Miles! You're letting your Barrayaran sensibilities get the better of you again!"

"She's still young! Male or female, it doesn't matter!"

"True. She could be given a ward. But that's only if Vorhalas dies before she reaches her majority."

"And there are a thousand ways for him to push this should he try."

"Yes. But that's not what I care about, particularly."

"Oh?"

"Mmm. What I care about is whether you're going to help her or not."

"I…" Miles thought for a few moments under Ekaterin's stare. "It depends on her."

She smiled. _Out of the dog house for now,_ a voice I his head came, unbidden. "Good," she said.

A knock came at the door. A Vorbarra uniformed armsman stepped though. "Milord, milady, would you please follow me?


	2. Let's see what happens

The armsman led them deep into the maze of ancient hallways. He finally stopped at a door marked _Private_, and opened it to reveal a small study. The girl sat of a silk upholstered couch, Empress Laisa next to her. Gregor sat on a chair across from them.

Lady Vorhalas stared up at them with brilliant blue eyes, her face nearly transparent with it's paleness. A tiny turned up nose—Vorpinski, that—a pointed chin completed her image as barely a slip of a child. A figment…She clutched her knees with white-knuckled hands.

"Ah, Lord Auditor and Lady Vorkosigan," said Gregor. The child took a very deep breath at the name. Gregor continued, "Lady Isolde Vorhalas." 

Lady Vorhalas wrenched her hand from her knee and extended it across the distance between herself and Miles. Miles shook it.

"I apologize, Lord Auditor, Lady Vorkosigan," she said shakily. "I am not…enamored… of crowds."

_Now that will be a problem_, Miles thought. "With a crowd of that sort, I can't blame you," he said. _And the Council will be worse._ Lady Vorhalas smiled slightly.

She and Ekaterin quickly shook hands, and Gregor gestured Miles and Ekaterin to another couch. They sat delicately. 

"My Uncle's illness has reached the final stages. He knows it, which both helps a hurts the current situation," Lady Vorhalas said to Gregor. "He wants the Countship and the properties to stay with the bloodlines. He means to propose that I carry the titles and deeds over to the next generation, to my sons." She breathed deeply twice. Her anxiety was slowly draining out of her. "I…agree with him in principle. But…I would…I want to claim what rightfully belongs to my bloodline. All of it." She stared into Gregor's eyes.

Miles held his breath. _The title, the voting rights, the…the everything?_

Gregor leaned back. "The Conservatives will scream," he said frankly. 

She looked away. "Some of them. So will some of the Progressives. Sire, my family has done nothing but serve this Imperium. Nor am I without historical precedent. Sire, I _know_ I will be confirmed as holder of deeds."

"Do you?" Miles said softly.

Blue eyes scorched him. Where did all of that emotional energy come from? "With the proper campaign, and proper supporters, yes, I do."

"I agree you would have that confirmation," said Gregor. "Your other plans however, are…more controversial."

She swallowed. "Yes, sire. I understand. I…have discussed this with no one, not even my uncle. I wanted to ask for your permission to try first. At this juncture, it is public assumption that I will try for the deeds. If that is all you wish me to try for, that will be all."

Gregor studied her carefully. After several _very_ uncomfortable moments, he spoke. "Do you think you can do it?"

She sat up straighter. "Even if I can't, it will force people to think."

Gregor's eyes narrowed slightly in approval. He glanced at Laisa. A long last, he said softly: "Let's see what happens. Lady Vorhalas," he said in a louder tone, "You may try for all of the rights of a reigning count, in your position as last living member of the Line Vorhalas." He reached a hand out to her. 

She shook it firmly. "Thank you sire. I will not disappoint you."


	3. Late Night with Old Vorhalas

Isolde opened the door to her room in Vorhalas House later that evening to find it already lit. She made it dimmer. Drained from her near panic attack and her conversation with the emperor, Isolde was ready to surrender to slumber, but knew she had better speak to her uncle before retiring for the night. She kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her sleeves; with a deft pull her hair came tumbling from its twist. She padded down the deserted hall to the count`s chambers, greatly resembling a hospital room now that the count`s illness had progressed. She nodded to the doctor outside the bedchamber, who did not impede her. She opened the door on a darkened bedchamber. Old Vorhalas lay on the great bed, shrunken with age and illness, paper white and pierced with tubes, monitors, and all manner of medical device. His breathing was barely audible above the whir of machines. 

``Uncle,`` she said, not bothering to speak in a whisper. 

``Yes, child,`` he responded, voice wavering.

``I did as you asked.``

``And? What did he say?``

``He said, `Let`s see what happens.```

He let out a voiceless `ha!` ``Good. Good. Excellent. How long did it take him?``

``Less than fifteen minutes, sir. I believe he anticipated us.``

``Yes, of course. Good.`` He sighed. ``Good. You should go get some sleep, girl, the hard part starts in the morning.``

_Starts?_ She thought. _The hard part is still weeks away, Uncle. The hard starts when you die. But you won`t be around to worry about that, now will you?_ Something prickled in her memory. ``Lord Auditor Vorkosigan was there.``

Her uncle`s eyebrows rose, creating deep creases in his skin. ``Was he,`` he said thoughtfully.

``Yes, sir.``

``How interesting. What did he say?``

``He seemed to doubt my conviction and my ability,`` she continued before he could interrupt. ``However, I had thought it might be to our advantage to play on both Conservatives and Progressives.``

``How so?``

Succinctly she stated the reasoning which she had outlined so many times in her mind. ``The Conservatives will support us to keep the Vor system in place. To encourage this, we may be able to plant the idea that our liege persons would request an election. To a staid conservative mind, a female blood member is better than democratic rule.``

That line of reasoning was sound. ``Yes, go on.``

``The Progressives will see this as a step towards liberality, a woman receiving the deeds. `` _Or the Countship_, she thought. ``Their bone, however, and for all its promise, has a hollow center. My sons will inherit, not my daughters.`` _Not that I plan to have any sons... _``It is my belief, Uncle, that most of our support will come from the Progressives, those who support women`s rights. There are, of course, those who would rather freeze on Kyril Island rather than see a woman inherit, in both Progressive and Conservative camps.``

``That may be a much larger number than you believe.``

``Yes, sir, but the truth is we _don`t know_. We have the Emperor`s permission. We need to begin networking tomorrow morning, early, and the first place I would like to start is with Vorkosigan.``

The old count`s mouth tightened. This has been what she was afraid of. His flat out rejection of anything Vorkosigan, simply because it _was_ Vorkosigan. He opened his mouth. ``We should begin with our allies first, not our enemies...``

``Sir, all of you allies are Conservative old sticks, most of whom would consider you maddened by disease to propose such a thing. Sir, Vorkosigan won the Vorrutyer and Vorbretten votes--``

``Vorbretten, I will grant you. Richars lost that vote all by his own idiotic self.``

``Fine, sir. But the Lord Auditor is energetic, a Progressive, and highly influential. This vote cannot be won by alienating one so powerful. I would like--``

``Enough,`` he stared intently into her blue eyes. She had proven to him much of what he already knew and then some. The fact that she had picked all of it up on her own...She was so very _capable_, this one. In need of training to be sure, but the potential was...Curse the child for being born female. And for being so young. He would have to find her a very good regent before he died...one with greater willpower than hers, and a sense of honor. Irritably he gave her his decision, doubtless that even without it she would have moved forward track. ``Do whatever you deem necessary with the Vorkosigans. I will not assist you. Since you seem to find it so critical, it is to be your private project...along with your other duties as they arise.``

She nodded calmly. ``Yes, sir. Is there anything else?``

She appeared to accept this without any childish resistance. ``Not at this time.``

Again she nodded. ``Goodnight sir.``

``Goodnight, child.``


	4. A Conspiracy Runs Two Ways

Author's Note: Ok, I am SO sorry that I haven't updated in, like months. * hides in Impsec basement. * Don't hurt me, please. Thanks to everybody who reviewed, I luv you guys! (btw: I got my first flame! It was pretty piss poor, but it was a flame!)  
The adventures of Isolde continue. I apologize for having this little Gregor/Miles conversation right here, but I figured screwing around with the chapter arrangement would just be excessively confusing. And I know it's short, but I promise the next update will be soon and with the while. If it's not, bug me! Then I work faster.  
Disclaimer: It's not mine. I have no wish for it to be mine. (Seriously, Miles is wonderful but he's a pain in the behind.) It infested the mind of Lois McMaster Bujold long before any of ours, so she can keep it. I also have no money, and am making no money from this. Please don't sue me.   
Have fun, kids!  
p.s. : These symbols mean thought.  
  
Miles breathed a short, heavy sigh as the door closed behind the girl. "Gregor...this is way too soon after Dono to try something like this. The conservatives will hate it."  
Gregor pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, she is the only foreseeable possibility of a female inheritance within our lifetimes. And if it is not tried *now*, in the middle of other social changes, it may become more impossible in the future."  
"Gregor, we have no idea where this will lead. Any firstborn daughter, rare as they are, might try to use this."  
Gregor waved a hand. "This will be seen as a last resort measure, if she makes it. A way to keep the Vor system from collapsing. Miles, the Constitutionalists are requesting a democratic election upon the Count's death. We are not ready for that much change. Other than her appointment, the only other possibility is to appoint a new line to the Countship. That could cause civil unrest in the Vorhalas District, and they are such an economic powerhouse it could affect the entire economy of Barrayar." Gregor leaned back in his chair. "In a way, I'm relieved she is willing to try."  
"I didn't know about the Constitutionalists. Why haven't I heard about it?"  
"ImpSec is keeping it as quiet as they can, for now. It may get out anyway."  
"Gregor, why wasn't I informed as a Lord Audi-,"  
"You were busy," Gregor said blandly.  
Miles frowned. He did not like being out of the loop. "Do you think she understands by herself how much is at stake? Do you think she can lead?" Ekaterin asked. "I would think a strong leader of outside the bloodline is better than a scandal causing weak one from within." "She did say she was attempting this without the knowledge of the Count. It's very possible she does." Laisa stated. She folded plump arms over her bust. "The Count may not even be appraised of the entire outside situation. He has been very ill." Miles had to admit the possibility. Gregor smiled slightly. "I believe Lady Vorhalas has a better grasp of the situation than she has let on to anyone." "You've been having ImpSec watch her?" Miles inquired. Gregor nodded. "Yes, but I also have information from other sources entirely..."  
  
It was late the next day when Isolde finally took the time to eat. Ullya came with a tray from the kitchens, piled high with a beef stew that reeked of salt and onions, a crispy roll, steamed greens of some sort and a heavy mug of tea with milk. Isolde inhaled deeply and her stomach gurgled loudly in anticipation. Thanking Ullya, she picked up the mug and sipped carefully. She had been working all day on the comconsole, drafting letters and reviewing files. Most of what she had been looking at was the voting records of the Counts. Her prospects was beginning to look more and more grim. She set down the mug and stabbed at her stew. It was plain fare, the same as the servants ate, but it was tasty. Madame Yavenka barred no holds when it came to food.  
Isolde looked back at the comconsole screen. What she needed was an ally from within, a-she hesitated to use the word-champion of sorts. Someone who could either influence invisibly, or overtly. It could not be anywhere in between, she was convinced. *Damn* it. I can't talk to Vorkosigan without letting the whole of Vorbarr Sultana know about it. I'd rather keep it under wraps for at least a little while. But I don't trust the com, and any servant I send with a letter is conspicuous as hell...not to mention how conspicuous I would look calling on Vorkosigan house...  
It was right convenient that Ullya's beau was in the service of Count Dono Vorrutyer. Dono had, in fact, been the first person she had expressed her intentions to-then in the most preliminary of forms. Dono had encouraged her, and helped her to refine some of her plans. She knew him to be absolutely delighted with what he called the Conspiracy. His letters had been most helpful. Letters...Slowly she set down her fork. Could it be possible...  
All of her communication with Dono had been through letters. Dono was a good friend of Vorkosigans. She almost laughed aloud at not having seen it before. I must stop seeing roadblocks and start seeing detours... Dono's Countess Olivia was a member of the illustrious Koudelka clan. They had had ties to the Vorkosigans since before the Pretendership. If Dono could not get a letter to Vorkosigan, his Countess certainly could, no questions asked. And with her mentor the Countess Vorkosigan in town for Winterfaire... Oh, my. Dono, when all of this is over, I swear I will name my eldest daughter Donna... Abandoning her dinner, she moved to her desk, and from the top drawer took a sheet of heavy cream-colored paper and a pen.   
"My dear Count Dono," she wrote. "I must make a great request of you..." 


	5. The League of Grandmothers

Ok. So. I've been a BAD Caramina. I haven't posted for months. Six, to be exact. Someone finally yelled at me to work on it some more, and look what happened! The longest chapter to date! Some notes: I noticed that I had committed a MAJOR canon bad--something no one had noticed, despite catching numerous other, less significant, mistakes. The district taxes are, in fact, done on the Emperor's Birthday, not during Winterfaire. My bad, and I apologize. From here on out, the mistake will be corrected, and there will even be and instance of the real Winterfaire, which is actually four months away from the Emperor's Birthday (see Mirror Dance). And yes, there will still be a Winterfaire Surprise. Cordelia makes her first appearance here. For anyone who ever wondered, it is VERY difficult to write for Cordelia. If I have in some way sullied the character, or portrayed her in any way less than authentic, I apologize. Its hard enough to follow that woman thought processes, never mind write them. I expect Aral will be harder, if I decide to include him. Miles is unavailable for a REASON. (mostly, my own entertainment) So...enjoy.  
  
Oh, right. -deep sigh-. It belongs to Lois, not to me. I don't want it, I make no money from it, and I am so close to flat broke its ridiculous. Please don't sue me. You ask for stoppage, it is stopped.  
  
House Vorrutyer  
  
"What's that, love?"  
  
Dono turned to his wife. "My newest communication from our young friend," he said, and handed her the piece of paper.  
  
Olivia took the heavy cream sheet and read:  
  
My dear Count Dono,  
  
I must make a great request of you. I have received the Emperor's blessing in this endeavor (he said "Lets see what happens," just as you guessed). I have also received my Uncle's permission to contact a certain Friend of your acquaintance. This particular personage may not wish to assist me in my endeavor, as our families have been in Great Opposition since long before the Pretendership. I would greatly appreciate it if the contained letter could make its way discretely to their House.  
  
Thank you,  
  
Lady Isolde Vorhalas  
  
Olivia sat, carefully. "How...fascinating. I assume she is speaking of the Vorkosigans?"  
  
"I can think of no other. The letter has no address on it, so I also must assume she expects it to be read by any member of the household."  
  
Olivia pursed her lips. "I will take it, then. I was going to see Tante Cordelia sometime this week anyway, I'll just make it sooner."  
  
Countess Vorrutyer's trip to Vorkosigan House laster that day was short. As the canopy of the groundcar went up, she could see the sunken garden in the side yard—but she could not see Ekaterin. :Did they go to the Searleu? At this time of day she's usually working...:  
  
Pym opened the door to her. "Countess Olivia," he said. "This is unexpected. My lord and milady are down at Vorkosigan Searleu for the week..."  
  
"That's quite alright, Pym. Is Tante Cordelia in?"  
  
"Yes, she and Lady Alys are in the Library." He tapped the comm. "Milady?"  
  
Tante Cordelia's voice came back. "Yes, Pym?"  
  
"Countess Vorrutyer is here and requests to see you."  
  
"Olivia? Oh, do send her in, Pym."  
  
"Yes, milady." He cut the comm.  
  
Tante Cordelia and Lady Alys were having tea when Olivia came in, along with some delicious looking Ma Kosti snacks.  
  
"Hello, Olivia, how are you and Dono?"  
  
"Quite well, Tante. How is the Count?"  
  
Cordelia handed her some tea. "Better, I must say. He hopes to be here within the next few weeks. Some business on Sergyar kept him from coming with me."  
  
Olivia sipped her tea and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Cordelia, but this isn't entirely a social call."  
  
Alys gave her a once over. "Do tell, my dear Countess."  
  
Olivia was not entirely sure whether or not Lady Isolde thought Lady Alys to be officially enough of a member of Vorkosigan house, but...:I'll let Tante Cordelia decide.: Setting aside her tea, she drew out Lady Isolde's sealed letter. She looked to Lady Alys. "Do you remember, at the Emperor's Birthday, when Vorhalas' little niece went to give the District taxes?" Alys nodded.  
  
"Yes, I remember thinking that it was a particularly bold move for the Count..."  
  
Cordelia looked magnificently interested "Vorhalas' niece?"  
  
"Great niece, actually," Alys filled in. "Rulf was her grandfather. His son, Petrov, the one that survived—"  
  
"Yes, I remember..."  
  
"Was to be Count Vorhalas' heir. Lord and Lady Vorhalas, and their son, Lord Rulf Anton, were killed in a lightflier accident three months ago."  
  
"I did get that, in one of the ImpSec briefings. I knew they had another child, but...Wasn't there another male heir?"  
  
"You would think so, but so far they haven't even been able to roust up even any bastards. The Vorhalas' were honorable to the pain, it appears."  
  
"And now," Olivia put in, "The Count is ill."  
  
"And she is not old enough to have married yet, I take it?" Cordelia asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"How old is she, now that its been mentioned..."  
  
Olivia thought for a moment. "Seventeen, I believe."  
  
"Hmm...So..."  
  
"So. A few weeks ago Dono receive a letter from the Lady Vorhalas via her maidservant to our Armsman. She was trying to find out whether or not she had any chance of attaining the Countship upon her Uncle's death." Cordelia smiled. "We encouraged her, but told her to see Gregor first. She did, at the Birthday ball."  
  
"What did he say?"  
  
"She quotes him as saying 'Let's see what happens'."  
  
Cordelia began to smirk. "I...see."  
  
"Which brings me," Olivia concluded, "To the reason for my visit, which is to convey this to you." She handed across the letter.  
  
Cordelia took it and broke the seal. She read through the first page, handed it to Alys, and did the same with the second page. It was a long silence as Alys finished the letter.  
  
"How...interesting," Alys concluded. "She is very convincing. Certainly intelligent, but lacking in refinement."  
  
"That only comes with practice, Alys dear."  
  
"It -can- be learned."  
  
"Are you offering?"  
  
Alys glanced at Cordelia sharply. "It is not," she said stiffly, "Entirely my decision."  
  
Cordelia sat silent for a few moments, apparently in deep thought. Olivia held her breath and wondered just what had been in that letter.  
  
"It is long past time that this be attempted. As it seems to be the perfect opportunity, and since Gregor has approved it...I wonder, though. -I- certainly have no problem helping her because she is Vorhalas—I should be most interested to discover what she thinks of her late cousins Carl and Evan out of her uncle's hearing. She may even be trying to kill two birds with one stone..." she trailed off. "I will certainly persuade Miles and Aral to lend their support," she began again abruptly. "I assume Dono has been making some contacts already?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Olivia replied, fascinated by Cordelia's response. "Rene—Count Vorbretten, that is—thinks this is a most interesting experiment."  
  
Alys tapped a perfectly enameled fingernail on her lips. "Lady Isolde's mother was the sister of Count Vorpinski, as I recall. Perhaps..."  
  
"Yes..." Cordelia prompted.  
  
"A possible contact, Cordelia."  
  
"A quiet contact, until we blow this open?"  
  
"I believe so."  
  
"You'll help her?" Olivia hoped perked.  
  
Alys and Cordelia shared a most terrifying Look. "Certainly," Cordelia said, looking back to Olivia. "She was, after all, very convincing."  
  
It had been three days.  
  
:I hate waiting. I simply...-loathe- waiting.: Dono had not yet replied. That was very, distinctly, extremely ungood. Isolde was pacing up and down the second floor corridor. :I do not have time for this sort of thing. I must move, and move quickly. March or die.: March or die...now who had said that, it sounded achingly familiar...  
  
The loss of forward momentum right now had the very real potential of being disastrous. Tentative contacts with Counts Vorsmythe and Vorvolk had proved fruitful, especially with the Emperor's backing—but showing her intentions too openly could be very, very bad. If that letter had gone astray...  
  
"You'll wear yourself out like that, milady."  
  
Isolde whipped around, startled. One of her Uncle's doctors, Bhortas, was standing at the door of the Count's chambers. From his scruffy appearance, he had just gotten off shift. He raised his hands. "I apologize. I did not mean to frighten you."  
  
"Startled only, Doctor Bhortas."  
  
"You will wear yourself out," he repeated.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"You're pacing. You also don't sleep enough."  
  
"And how, my dear doctor, would you know that?"  
  
"The light from under your door is visible in this hall whenever I come on shift, milady."  
  
So the doctor was nosy. "You come on shift at midnight. That is not very late."  
  
"I come on shift at two in the morning. But your light does not go out for another two hours."  
  
:Oops.: Dammit, her sleeping habits were none of his concern..."You are," she said, "Supposed to be watching my Uncle's health, Doctor Bhortas, not mine."  
  
"True, milady. But my duty also extends to all members of the Vorhalas family; in fact, to every person in this House. And I am sorry, Lady Vorhalas, but you must sleep."  
  
Isolde paused for a long moment.  
  
"If you -cannot- sleep, milady, I can give you—"  
  
"Thank you, Doctor, that will not be necessary."  
  
"Milady, if you do not sleep—"  
  
"I shall become very sick, Doctor, I understand. However, if I do not finish my work—"  
  
"If you do not sleep, milady, then you will spend several days or weeks in recovery rather than a few hours unconscious."  
  
-That- gave her pause. Dammit, he was right, the son of a... "Very good, Doctor Bhortas, I will turn in early tonight. If I am unable to sleep by the time your shift starts, then I will certainly seek your...medicinal assistance."  
  
He covered his surprise at her snap decision very well, she thought. "Very good, milady," he said, sketched a jerky bow, and left.  
  
"Milady?" her comm crackled. "Yes, Armsman Hertz?"  
  
"Your grandmother is here."  
  
:Grandmama? Wait...: "-Which- grandmother, please, Hertz?"  
  
In the background she heard a muffled "Which grandmother indeed..." Hertz's voice came through. "Your Grandmother Vorpinski, milady."  
  
"Please conduct her to my rooms, then, Hertz."  
  
"Yes, milady." He cut the comm.  
  
Isolde had just settled herself into her small parlor after requesting coffee—Grandmama Vorpinski loved coffee—from Ma Yavenka when the Dowager Countess Valeska Tatiana Hendrika Vorpinski swept into the room.  
  
"My dear child, you really shouldn't wear gray, it makes you look so washed out..." Countess Vorpinski was wearing black with dark green accents; still officially in mourning for the deaths of her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson, she was nonetheless impeccably dressed, as always. Her very white curly hair was swept up into bun on the back of her head with matching combs.  
  
"Good morning, Grandmama Valeska." She accepted and gave a peck on the cheek. "I trust you are well?"  
  
"Certainly, my dear." Ullya came with the coffee and what looked like coconut macaroons. "That is coffee, I hope?"  
  
"Of course, Grandmama."  
  
"Will you be needing anything else, milady, Countess?" Ullya asked.  
  
"No, Ullya, thank you," Isolde dismissed her.  
  
Ullya backed out the door with the smallest glance of great sympathy towards Isolde. :She's not that much of a Vor Dragon, really...:  
  
"So, Isolde," Valeska began as Isolde poured her coffee. "Your Uncle Jean and Aunt Nadia and I are quite worried about you. While I understand your reasons for staying in Vorhalas house—" she poured cream into her coffee, "The Count being as ill as he is—we do wish you would visit more often."  
  
"Grandmama, I could not possibly consider leaving the Count-my-great-uncle while he is so ill." Isolde put both cream and sugar into her cup. "It would be most improper. I am very reassuring to him, and keep him calm."  
  
"I know, dearest, but...as precious as your father was to him, your mother was just as precious to us."  
  
Isolde stared into her coffee, gently resting the cup in her lap. :I can't be Mama for you, Grandmother. I cannot be someone I am not. I cannot be your comfort and Uncle Vorhalas' and still take care of myself and the District. I wish I could. I know you miss her—so do I—but I cannot be your consolation prize. Nor do you need one.: She spoke, roughly, "There is much more at stake here, Grandmama, and while I do love you and Uncle Jean, my fear for what will happen when the Count dies is considerably greater."  
  
Valeska's eyes narrowed as she sipped her coffee. She brought the cup down and stared into Isolde's eyes for a long moment. Abruptly she broke the contact and took another sip. "So I am informed."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"A very good friend—and very old—friend of mine informed me that you had notions towards the Vorhalas countship which could be quite controversial indeed. Ah-ta-ta," she said to the gape of Isolde's face. :My letter. How did they get a hold of my letter?!: "I have no intention of stopping you. Should you succeed I believe I would be quite proud. Jean, by the way, is very interested as well. However," she emphasized. "I do insist that you meet at least once with an acquaintance of mine. No excuses," she said to Isolde's half started protest. "She will be here tomorrow morning, early. And she will be of a great help to you, I'm sure."  
  
"Now. Does your Uncle Vorhalas provide you with an allowance, or will -I- have to help you improve your wardrobe?" 


End file.
